


mirrors

by lester_sheehan



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lester_sheehan/pseuds/lester_sheehan
Summary: A mirror that can retrieve memories, an insistent doctor, and a spark of hope. Implied Adashino x Ginko.





	mirrors

He always comes back.

No matter what he sees, how far he travels, who he meets… he always finds himself here. In an ordinary cottage on the outskirts of a small fishing village, where seasons pass slowly and his life is nothing more than a story. A long tale.

Ginko and Adashino sit cross-legged in the back room, both engrossed in their own reading. It’s not often that he gets Adashino involved in a case – usually the doctor only makes an appearance at the end, bartering with him for whatever he’s found – but sometimes, if there’s a particularly hefty amount of research to be done, Ginko can’t deny that it’s useful.

They’ve been trawling through records for hours, silent for the most part, when Adashino says: “Do you ever get tired of it?”

Ginko glances up, expression blank. Adashino motions to the scrolls spread out across the floor. “All this. Do you ever wish that you could just rest?”

“No,” Ginko says.

Adashino fiddles with a torn piece of paper, runs the material through his fingers. “I see.”

He doesn’t bring up the topic again, and the days pass quietly.

*

“Mm,” Ginko nods, hand raised in goodbye. “I’ll see you, then.”

Adashino gives a slight tilt of his head, the rim of his monocle reflecting the early dawn. “Already?” His voice sounds softer somehow, as though the mist of the morning has blanketed it in a gentle caress. “But I haven’t even told you the best bit yet.”

Ginko raises an eyebrow, paused in the doorway. Adashino takes it as an invitation to continue, a grin spreading across his face. “A patient of mine – you know the one: old, bald, always complaining –”

“So that narrows it down to all of them,” Ginko says.

“—well, he said that this case is to do with a rare kind of mushi, one that may interest even you. _And_ he’s willing to pay. He has this item – a mirror that replays scenes of your past – and, well—”

“Ah,” Ginko says, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Now I get it.” Adashino stares at him, silent. “You want the mirror.”

Shrugging in a rather failed attempt to appear neutral, Adashino says, “I’m willing to take it off your hands.”

“You shouldn’t mess with things you don’t understand, you know.”

“On the contrary, Ginko, you should mess with things _until_ you understand.” A pause. He tries again. “It’s just over the mountain. A day’s walk at most.”

“I’m busy,” Ginko shrugs. “I’ll pop into the village if I have time.” And then he turns, face lit by the pink of the sky, specks of dust visible in the sun’s rays. Above him, a flock of birds move swiftly, dark silhouettes against a painted canvas.

As he walks from the house, grass twisting at his feet, he can’t resist one final glance back. Adashino is sitting on the wooden floor, legs crossed with his back against the doorframe. He raises a small hand in acknowledgement. Ginko offers a rare smile in return.

Then he pulls the map from his bag, shakes his head, and begins to head for the mountain.

*

“Yo.” Ginko taps on the wood, scarf wrapped tight around his face. “It’s freezing out here.”

Adashino opens the door a crack, peers through with furrowed brows. “Sorry, who are you?”

“Quit playing.”

Shifting from one foot to the other, refusing to open the door any further, Adashino says, “It’s been almost a year.”

Ginko shrugs, limbs stiff from the cold. A snowflake drops onto his nose. “What if I told you I brought something with me?”

The doorway widens, and Adashino steps back: arms crossed, expression unamused. But he doesn’t hide his excitement well, and Ginko strides in, rubbing his hands together as if trying to start a fire. Then he kicks off his shoes and grabs a towel for his face, as though the house is his own. He supposes it might as well be.

Adashino never seems to mind. Instead, he raises a hand to his head, rubs at his hair. “Sorry. It’s kind of cold in here, too.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Lowering himself down onto the floor, removing the countless layers of material wrapped around his body, Ginko takes a drag of his cigarette. “So. Any news around here?”

“Nothing of importance. What did you—?”

“Ah,” Ginko says. “You don’t happen to have any food either, do you?”

“Yes, yes, in a moment. What—”

“How is the fishing at this time of year, by the way?”

Adashino narrows his eyes, expression flat. “Now who’s playing?”

But Ginko simply turns to his backpack, pulling open the bottom drawer. Reaching in, his hands clasp around a thin frame. “This what you were after?” he says, dangling the mirror from his hand. At the sight of Adashino’s shock, Ginko places the object on the ground, pushes it across the floor towards him. “You do want it, don’t you?”

Adashino lowers his slender frame until he’s sitting cross-legged, reaching slowly for the mirror. He runs a careful finger over the glass, eyes shining – traces the strange patterns around the rim, mouth parted in a silent ‘o’ – and whispers, “How much?”

Ginko shifts so that all of his weight is on one arm, leaning back. He takes this moment to study his friend. The way that his pupils dilate and his hair flops into his eyes; the gentle hands – Ginko supposes a tender nature is necessary for a doctor – that hold the item with reverence; the way that the poor bastard can’t see the creatures at all, yet lives in awe over anything they produce.

Adashino glances up, meeting Ginko’s eye through dark lashes. His cheeks are flushed – whether from excitement, or from the realisation that he is being observed, Ginko can’t tell – as he repeats, “How much?”

“You can have it,” Ginko responds flatly. “It’s of no use to me.”

“No, no, you should take something.” He moves to rise. “Wait here, let me—”

“I don’t need it.”

Adashino seems to deliberate for a moment before sinking back down to the floor. “Thank you.”

“Mm,” Ginko grunts.

“Really.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Okay,” Adashino says. He studies the mirror for a while longer. “How exactly does it work?”

“I got you the damned thing. I never said anything about indulging you further.”

“Come on,” Adashino says, drawing the words out slowly.

Ginko leans forward, rests his face in his palm. “There’s a mushi trapped inside of the glass. It’s made from the same stuff as memories – or rather, memories are made from _it_. If you look into the mirror and focus, the mushi may latch onto whatever you’re thinking about. And then the image appears.”

Mouth still slightly open, Adashino is barely able to contain his excitement. “Let me try it,” he says, and the words are so full of energy that the doctor appears even more animated than usual.

Closing his eyes tight, face drawn into a frown, soft words being mumbled beneath his breath, Adashino makes for a rather comical sight. Ginko finds himself torn between amusement, and wondering just what the hell he’s let himself in for. He sighs and shakes his head. “You need to relax more,” he deadpans.

Adashino tries his hardest.

Eventually, after much back and forth –   
  
“You’re doing it wrong.”

“I’m doing it fine.”

“You’re still not relaxed.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“You’re thinking too much.”

“I’m thinking just fine.” –

Adashino gets it to work. In the glass, a vision of himself appears: young, not much older than twelve, sitting on a rock in the sea. Next to him, a bucket is full to the brim with fish. A man, Adashino’s father, sits next to him. They smile, and the image fades.

Ginko stares at him. “Is that it?”

“Not all of us can live like you, you know.” He stares wistfully at his reflection. “He was so proud that day.”

“You’re right,” Ginko says. “I’m sorry.”

Adashino simply shrugs, then tries again. He plays through countless scenes, memories large and small. And although Ginko tries his hardest to appear disinterested, he can’t quite bring himself to draw his eye away.

After a vision of his first ever patient, Adashino finally glances up. “Want a go?” he says.

“No.”

“Come on; I’m just as interested as you are.”

Ginko grimaces, looks out the open door. The sun is beginning to set, and the air smells of smoke. Even from inside the house, he can hear the sound of the waves, a whispering lull.

Adashino exhales softly. “I get it if you’re scared about—”

Ginko chuckles, low and deep. “You know my line of work. A mirror isn’t going to scare me.”

Biting his lip, but knowing not to push any further, Adashino nods. “Okay.”

“I’m going to take a walk,” Ginko says, and then he’s up and heading for the beach within seconds.

“Hey!” Adashino calls, scrambling to his feet. “I’m coming too.”

He leaves the mirror on the floor, reflecting the darkening sky.

On the shore, they walk in silence. The water laps at their feet, a thousand cold kisses, and the seaweed brushes against their skin. Carrying the scent of brine and evening fire, a slight breeze drifts across the sand, humming in their ears.

Ginko places his cigarette between his teeth. He looks at the horizon and squints his eye against the dying light. “I’m okay with this life,” he says.

Adashino follows his gaze, watches as the ocean ripples and the rocks glisten in the water’s residue. “And if you see your past, you’re worried you won’t be?”

Ginko doesn’t respond, just exhales and tilts his head slightly, following the rising wisp of smoke. They walk on in silence for a while longer. Adashino has his hands clasped behind his back, lost in thought. The light of the sun fades into a deep blue. The birds finally fall quiet.

“I think I’ll head off tomorrow,” Ginko says.

Adashino’s mouth slackens. “But you only just got here. I thought—”

“I know.”

Frown deepening, Adashino stops in his tracks, toes digging into the sand. “Is this because of the mirror? You don’t have to use it. It was just an idea.”

“It’s not because of the mirror,” Ginko says, glancing behind him, eventually slowing to a halt. He gives a lopsided smile. “You really want me to stay, huh?”

Adashino’s face seems to drain of all colour, as though the waves have reached up within him and pulled it out with the tide. “No. No, I just thought you could rest—I mean, you said that it got tiring sometimes—and what I mean is that—” He stops, eyes narrowing at the smirk on Ginko’s face. “That you’re not leaving tomorrow, are you?”

“Are you kidding? There’s free food here,” Ginko says, kicking a rock into the shallow water. He turns and begins to walk back to the house, hands in his pockets.

Again, Adashino rushes to catch up, mumbling obscenities under his breath. “Damn you, Ginko. You shouldn’t do that.”

“Just admit that you love my company and this embarrassing ordeal will be over.”

“I love the stories. I never said anything about you.”

Ginko shrugs. “Same thing.”

There’s a pause and then a quiet: “No. It’s not.”

*

Adashino falls asleep quickly that night, worn out from the exhilaration of the day. It’s always like that when Ginko arrives, he thinks.

The air is cool and the night is black. A small stream of moonlight filters through the window, filling the room with a soft glow. Ginko glances over at his friend, then moves out from beneath the covers, creeping towards the back room. He rummages in the desk drawer for a while, then strikes a match and lights two candles. He grabs the mirror from where it lies.

With a soft thud, he lowers himself to the floor, one arm resting on his knee. “Why not?” he mutters, and then he closes his eye and thinks back. Tries to picture the earliest memory that he has – of waking up alone, looking at the moon, and feeling a strange sense of loss. A loss that he couldn’t – has never been able to – recall.

And then he tries to see further. To remember anything: any snippet, any memory, any family, any _name_. He knows that it won’t work, that he’s tried countless times before, but he also knows that in his attempts, he’s giving the mushi what it needs. And when he next opens his eye, the glass within the mirror is beginning to stir.

_The first thing he hears is the screaming. A boy awakes in his bed, eyes wide with fright, as his mother grabs his hand and drags him towards the door. From there, he sees his world burn. The village is on fire. Red flames. Black ash. Choking, suffocating, fatal smoke. It grows and it soars and it swallows everything in sight._

_The boy looks to his mother, his grip on her hand tightening. “Is this—?”_

_“Hush, Yoki. We need to leave.” Then she’s pulling him towards the crumbling remnants of a home he once loved, despite having been there such a short while._

_They try to make it to the forest. Ginko can feel their fear as though it is part of him. An old man stumbles before them, lungs aching, coughing up dust and soot. He meets the mother’s eyes. “This is your boy’s fault.” His voice is like the sound of death. “We were warned about him. A boy who brings danger wherever he stays.” He bends down, stares at the child as tears collect on his lashes. “Other elders are saying this fire is caused by a type of… mushi. And that they’re drawn to you.”_

_“I’m sorry,” the boy sobs. “I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know—”_

_“Leave,” the man says, words shaking. “I only pray that no other village suffers because of you.”_

_“That’s enough.” The mother intercedes now, pulling the boy along. “He’s just a child.”_

_As they disappear amongst the trees, the boy closes his eyes, allows his mother to guide him to safety. He tries to drown out the sounds of the injured, the fallen, the grieving. Tries to pretend that this isn’t happening. That this isn’t his fault._

_The vision speeds up. Night turns to day. Day turns to night. The noise of the forest is a comfort to the boy now. His mother tells him that they’re almost there. Just a little further. The trees sway gently, leaves rustling in quiet discussion. A bug flies past his nose. And then chaos returns and it’s so familiar, so terribly familiar, and his mother is dead and he’s crying and hurting and in that moment, he wishes that he was dead too._

_And then there’s a lady with white hair, just like his, and stories of mushi and herbs and fantastical tales, and he’s happy. He’s happy until the truth of the lake is revealed and Nui’s past is uncovered and everything is falling apart yet again._

The image in the glass fades, leaving an ordinary reflection once more. Ginko doesn’t move. Doesn’t know what to think. Wonders whether a part of him knew all along. There’s a phantom pain in his missing eye. He raises a hand to cover it, fingers splayed against his hair. He hears a quiet shuffling at the door.

“You can come in,” Ginko says, and Adashino jumps at the sound, fingers tightening around the door frame.

“I was just—”

“It’s fine.”

Adashino walks in quietly, soles padding softly against the floor. He sits down next to Ginko.

“There’s more,” Ginko says, and again, he fixes his concentration on the mirror.

_The vision is dark now. A blackness fills the glass, deeper and emptier than anything Adashino has ever seen. They watch as Nui appears, tells Ginko to leave, to let her go, and they witness his return, the whitening of his hair and the loss of his eye. The night is dark, too, and the boy is alone._

And then they see nothing but their own reflections staring back at them. Adashino has tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat – they’ve been there since Ginko first picked the mirror up – and a thousand words that he’s too scared to say. He shifts his gaze to Ginko, and waits.

Ginko holds the mirror in his hands, as still as stone. He swallows, closes his eye and pinches the bridge of his nose, then moves to stand. “Well, now we know,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t remember it.” He pulls out a cigarette, the glow of the match lighting the whole room. “She had already stayed there too long. There was nothing more I could have done.” He shifts slightly, turning to face Adashino. His silhouette stands weary in the doorway: shoulders slack, hair in disarray. “The fire was as much my fault as the villagers, or the animals, or the mushi. We were all simply existing.”

“But you still feel guilty.”

“How could I not?” He takes a drag of the cigarette. “I’m going to bed.”

“Mm,” Adashino nods. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he gives a small smile, fully aware of the futility of the action.

When he finally retreats to his bed – it lies on the floor next to Ginko’s, and in his attempt to remain silent, he barely breathes – Ginko’s lying on his back, eye closed. Adashino doubts that he is truly asleep, but lifts the cover slowly nonetheless, slipping beneath it. It feels rough against his skin tonight. His heart is heavy in his chest.

Regret fills his entire being, growing like a flower in his core.

He’d asked for the mirror, begged for Ginko to explain it, to test it out. He rolls onto his side, watches his friend as his chest rises and falls. Replays the sound of his cries in his mind, of the crackling wood and burning logs. Wishes that he’d never found out about the damned mirror in the first place—

“Shut up,” Ginko mutters, voice thick with sleep.

Adashino raises himself to one elbow. “What?”

There’s a soft sigh. “Shut up thinking.”

“Will you lose your other eye, too?” Adashino blurts out, instantly regretting the words.

“I don’t know.”

“But—”

“Go to sleep, Adashino.”

“Okay.”

His mind runs wild all night.

*

In the morning, Adashino wakes early to make breakfast; they eat in comfortable silence. He’s in the kitchen, standing over the sink with a cloth in his hand, when Ginko finally speaks.

“Before I left last time, you asked whether I ever grew tired, and I told you the answer was no,” Ginko says: slowly, distractedly, as though trying to draw as little attention to his words as he can. “I lied.”

Adashino’s hands still. He puts the bowl down, turns to stand in the doorway facing Ginko, and says, “You could stay here.”

“You know why I can’t.

“I don’t mind.”

“It won’t just affect your house. It’ll affect the whole village,” Ginko says, and Adashino easily detects the resentment in his words.

“Just for a while, then,” he tries.

Without lifting his eyes from the paper in his hands, Ginko says, “As long as I can.”

It’s the best answer Adashino can hope to receive.


End file.
